


Tease a Little More

by shakespeareishq



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is Seventeen Years Old, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Strippers & Strip Clubs, but no actual sex, probably could be dubcon depending on how you read things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3498830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareishq/pseuds/shakespeareishq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John catches an underaged Dean dancing at a strip club, he decides to try and scare the kid into not doing it again.</p><p>This backfires spectacularly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tease a Little More

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got off my lazy butt and stopped complaining about the lack of daddycest and instead wrote some. Yay. 
> 
> Dean is seventeen so this is technically underage and also you could probably argue that it's a bit dubconnish, but it ends up consensual and, imo, a lot happier than some of the Dean/John I've read. So. Read that how you will. They do not actually have sex in this fic, but they get super close to it and it's Heavily Implied that they will definitely be having sex later.
> 
> Title stolen from Pour Some Sugar on Me, because let's be honest that is what Dean would strip to. <3

Sam had wanted to go to summer camp.

It was 400 dollars and there was no way they'd be able to afford it, so John had put his foot down. Sam had gotten pissed, and John had gotten pissed right back, and eventually when the shouting died down Dean had taken Sam aside and told him quietly not to worry about it, he'd take care of everything.

And John had heard that part. He  _hadn't_ heard what exactly Dean was planning to do to get the money. 

So when one of the guys from the garage he works at between hunts invites all his coworkers to a strip club for his bachelor party, John running into his  _seventeen year old son_  shaking his ass on stage isn't something he had thought to worry about. 

If Dean notices him there while he's dancing, he doesn't acknowledge it. The male dancers are on the opposite end of the stage from the female dancers, and Dean seems to be drawing in enough attention from ladies, and a fair few men none of whom John likes the look of, that he doesn't bother to glance over and see his father a few feet away.

Dean is…not exactly unskilled.

John has to wonder if this is the first time Dean’s done something like this.

He tries to ignore it for the moment, he’d be a fool to make a scene in front of the whole club, tries to listen to Randy and Jeff talk about—whatever it is they’re talking about. Tries to not watch his oldest son get progressively more overtly sexual, progressively more naked.

They are going to need to have A Talk.

And that’s when John gets the idea. It probably sounds better to him semi-drunk than it does sober, but he’ll never know for sure. He wants to scare Dean straight. Freak him out just enough so he’ll think twice before he ever pulls a stupid stunt like this again.

The song ends, and Dean—wearing only a g-string now and somehow covered in glitter Jesus Christ—and the girl on John’s end both collect their tips and leave, and John sneaks away from his group to figure how to set up a private room.

It costs him nearly all of his alcohol money for the rest of the week, but it’s worth it when Dean saunters into the room with a “well hey there mister, how are you this— _Dad_?!” and visibly pales.

John raises his eyebrows and waits for Dean to dig his own grave. “Look, sir, I just—we needed the money and it’s not a big deal ok? If someone wants to give me fifty bucks for going on stage, well it’s more legal than scamming credit cards and Sammy _really_ wants to go to that stupid camp thing.” His tone grows increasingly defiant as he starts realizing he can defend himself. “This is _not_ the dumbest thing you’ve ever caught me doing, and I might point out that I wouldn’t have _gotten_ caught if you weren’t also here, and I know how much these rooms cost, that would’ve almost halfway paid for the damn camp. You know I don’t see any of that money right? I only keep what I make in tips, so yeah, you made your point, but I’m on the clock until four and now I’ve gotta try and make up that much of a difference.”

“Dean. You are seventeen years old. You’re not even allowed to be in here legally.”

“Oh don’t give me that crap. According to the fake I.D. _you_ made for me, I turned 18 four months ago. You think this is the first time I’ve done this? I’ve been eighteen since I was fifteen. If this was for a hunt you wouldn’t think twice so don’t try and take the moral high ground now. You just bought a lap dance from your own son.”

“That’s enough Dean, we’re leaving. Go put your real clothes on…and do something about the glitter, I’m not having it in the car.”

“You can’t make me.”

“The hell I can’t Dean—”

Dean interrupts him. “No. Actually you can’t.” He points to a shadowy corner of the room where the tiny red light of a security camera glints faintly. “There’s a strict no touching policy. If you lay a finger on me you’re gonna be out on your ass faster than you can blink, and if you get rough they might even decide to call the police, and you know you can’t afford to let that happen. So I think,” and here Dean gets a truly devious look on his face, “you’re kind of stuck, at least for tonight.”

And of course Dean is right, dammit. John tries very hard to keep hold of his anger but he feels himself deflate a bit. This whole situation feels surreal.

“I saw you, you know. Watching me up there. Trying to look like you weren’t. I didn’t expect you to like it enough to want a private show though. I mean that’s kind of fucked up, even for us. What would the guys from work say?”

The whole time Dean’s speaking he’s slowly closing the space between John and himself, and now he’s so close that John has to sit back in one of the provided chairs or else they’ll be chest to chest. Everything is wildly out of control and John can’t stand it but also he can’t _do_ anything about it. And maybe a small dark part of him doesn’t want to.

“And since you have me for the next twenty minutes, nearly a whole half hour that I’m losing money if I don’t do anything, I guess…you should probably get what you paid for.” Dean flutters his eyelashes and a bit of glitter falls onto John’s jeans. Fuck.

He should leave. He should, while Dean’s back is turned to the stereo to pick a song, get up and drive home and never speak of this again. Should just give Dean the money for Sam and spend the rest of his life pretending that he didn’t almost get a lap dance from a seventeen year old boy. From _his_ seventeen year old boy.  

John doesn't move.

Def Leppard starts coming through the speakers, and the Dean that turns around isn’t the obedient son John is used to, he’s not even the angry defiant Dean of a few minutes ago. This is Dean in seduction mode, using every inch of his height and slender frame to its best advantage. He sort of _flows_ over to John, hips swaying just enough to draw attention to them, the soft ripped jeans he’d donned between the stage and here hugging his ass and leaving nothing to John’s imagination. Up close, John can see the little details that he’d missed from across the room. Dean’s got makeup on. Smudged eyeliner and something John would swear is lip gloss, mouth shiny and plump, begging to be kissed. Begging for…less savory activities. The boy is sin personified, and while there are lots of reasons John is going to hell, he thinks this might just be the worst one.

The song picks up, and Dean starts moving. If John thought Dean might be shy about giving his father a lap dance, he is soon proven wrong. Dean treats it like he was dancing for any other customer, hell, maybe even does a _better_ job, John doesn’t know for sure. What he does know is that the instant Dean fits himself between John’s legs and starts grinding his ass into John’s crotch he’s completely doomed.

He’s hard in under a minute. Dean is too good at what he’s doing, rolling his hips, stripping off his tight white tank top and pressing himself all up against John, making it far too easy to imagine what they could be doing if they were both a little less clothed, a little more alone. He’s singing along too, a little bit off key like he’s done a thousand times before in the impala. John’s never going to be able to hear Dean singing without thinking of this, of Dean moving back, unbuckling his belt, turning around and bending over and oh so slowly peeling himself out of his pants. He drops into a squat once he’s down to that stupid thong again, standing back up ass first. John’s holding onto the sides of the chair so tight he thinks it might break. He wants so badly to _touch_.

Dean grabs onto his shirtfront and leans back as far as he can and, huh, Dean’s hard too. John doesn’t think that makes this any less fucked up, the fact that Dean apparently wants it.

When Dean comes back up it’s to encircle John’s shoulders and bury his face into John’s neck. He breathes out a little sigh and even though it’s quiet, over the music he can hear Dean moan “ _Daddy,_ ” and it’s so needy, so kittenish and soft and not his cocky confident son. John does reach up then, starts to grab Dean’s hips, but Dean sits up fast and shakes his head.

“You can’t. They’ll kick us both out if we do anything, it’s not a whorehouse. Not that I don’t, _ah_ , not that I wouldn’t—” Dean’s given up on trying to do much beyond rut against John, not really to the music which has at some point changed into Cherry Pie, sweat and glitter giving Dean’s skin a golden sheen that John wants to lick. His cock is leaking now, John can see the damp spot when the light hits Dean the right way. He feels his own cock give a twitch at that particular revelation. How badly had Dean wanted this? Had he thought about it before? Was this what he was thinking about all those times John caught him making out with girls in the backseat of the impala when he should’ve been researching or watching Sam? Or maybe this was just as much of a surprise for Dean as it was for John.

“When we get home, we’ll talk,” John promises, but Dean shakes his head again.

“No, if we talk we’ll just fuck it up. No talking. Just want you. Please daddy.” Dean has to look down at John because of how tall he is, but he still manages to look pleading

“Alright son, alright. We won’t talk. But you’d better go on and go now. This isn’t going to end well here, we both know that. Go and finish your shift, just for tonight. And keep the money, I’ll figure something out for Sam. Save this for something useful. And Dean?”

“Sir?”

“If I ever catch you doing this again, I _will_ kick your ass, understood? You don’t get to let them look at you like that anymore.”

Dean laughs, “I should’ve figured you’d be possessive. Fine, though I’m probably gonna bitch about it if money gets tight again, just to warn you.”

“Your bitching I can handle, your public nudity, not so much.”

Dean gets up, decidedly reluctant, and bends to pick up his clothes. Bizarrely, John seems to find the reverse strip tease just as hot, his breath and Dean’s jeans both hitching at the same time. Dean goes and turns off the stereo, then puts his shirt back on. He picks his belt up, starts to thread it through his belt loops, then thinks better of it. Instead he leans down, looping it around the back of John’s neck and using it to tug him forward into an all-too-brief kiss. Dean’s lip gloss is strawberry flavored.

Then Dean is turning around and walking out the door without so much as a ‘see you later.’

John is left alone with Dean's belt hanging around his neck, and he's still hard and growing increasingly frustrated because it's only 1:30 and Dean won't be back until nearly dawn. Coming here in his work shirt was a mistake because now he’s never going to get all the damn glitter off of it.

But still, the evening as a whole…

When Dean gets home, well, John knows what he should do, and he also knows what he’s _going_ to do.

John Winchester might one day be called a great man, but he is not a good one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
